The sea was warm around Gareth, the sun glinting off the waves as he soared just above them, weightless.
Laughter ripped from his chest as he twisted in the air, propelled by invisible force.
Each flick of his hand sent him darting higher, dipping low, skimming the surface so fast the spray stung his cheeks.
"This—" he shouted, voice carrying over the wind, "—this feels awesome!"
Kael was a blur beside him, boots hammering the water's surface like it was solid ground, each step exploding into spray. He grinned wolfishly, streaking forward faster than sound, cutting waves apart as he lunged.
"Hold still, you little bastard!" Kael roared, his voice booming across the bay.
But Gareth only laughed harder, twisting midair, dodging each strike.
His telekinetic bursts carried him in loops and sharp turns, always just out of reach. For once, there was no weight of destiny, no riddles, no chains.
Just the thrill of the chase, the ocean wind, and Kael's curses chasing him.
They carved chaos into the water—ripples scattering seabirds, foam spraying the air.
The island loomed beside them, vast and iron-clad, its walls crawling with guards and barbed fences.
And from behind those fences, prisoners stared. Silent.
Hundreds of eyes followed the game in the surf—gaunt men gripping bars, hollow faces pressed to slits in stone.
No laughter, no jeers, only that unbroken gaze.
Kael surged forward one last time.
Gareth, distracted by the oppressive weight of all those eyes, faltered. In an instant Kael slammed into him with a splash that shook the surface.
"Tagged you," Kael said breathlessly, smirking through dripping hair.
Gareth coughed out seawater, shaking his head with a rueful grin.
"Only because I wasn't concentrating." He hovered back up on a cushion of air, then extended a hand toward Kael.
"Come on. Get up here."
Gareth steadied himself above the waves, droplets trailing from his boots as he hovered. His grin faded.
For a moment, he simply listened—to the wind, to the sea.
Then he said quietly, "I felt it."
Kael tilted his head. "Felt what?"
"The sea," Gareth answered, gaze fixed on the horizon. "It tensed. Like something just passed through it… far away. Far, far, far away. Like an invisible barrier tearing for a heartbeat."
Kael frowned, scanning the still waters, but saw nothing. "You and your damned riddles."
Gareth only smirked again, snapping his hand out.
Before Kael could blink, Gareth darted forward, tapped him on the shoulder, and crowed, "Tagged you!".
Gareth stared at the vast sky and he sighed
wandering if he can actually catch but he moved.
"Cheating bastard," Kael growled, but Gareth was already gone.
Rocketing upward in a surge of telekinetic force, higher and higher until the wind roared in his ears.
He stared at the vast sea underneath. The cold hair hitting his nose.
His arms stretched wide, feeling the currents of air like threads in his palms.
With a flex of will, he pulled.
The sky tore with a shriek as a titanic sea-eagle—wings broad as sails—was ripped from its flight and dragged toward him.
It flapped wildly, but Gareth wrestled it down, muscles straining, then hurled it with a grunt toward the prison courtyard.
The great bird slammed into the dirt just inside the fences, thrashing until guards rushed to seize it.
But before they could, gaunt hands shot out through the bars.
Prisoners tore into the kill with feral hunger, ripping strips of feather, gnawing bones.
And from the chaos, a few voices rose.
"…thank you…"
"…thank you for the food…"
Gareth hovered, watching. His jaw tightened.
Then, without a word, he vanished in a blur back to Belmarius's ship.
He reemerged with a fistful of firewood stolen from the captain's cabin, one piece still burning at the tip.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent it sailing into the prison yard.
The flame caught, crackling in the shadows.
The bird was roasted to the perfect temperature by Gareth concentration.
This time the prisoners didn't pounce. They stared at Gareth instead.
And slowly, one by one, their lips cracked into smiles.
Hundreds of hollow faces lit with something brighter than hunger.
Kael drifted closer, unsettled. "Man look at them, Gareth… they're smiling at you."
Gareth floated above the prison yard, the last curl of smoke rising from the burning wood.
The prisoners' smiles, thin and cracked though they were, seemed to weigh heavier than chains.
He exhaled slowly. "This world…" His voice carried, quiet but certain. "It keeps changing me. More than I thought it would."
Kael glanced at him, brows furrowed.
"I was just some kid," Gareth went on, his eyes sweeping over the faces below, the endless stone, the horizon that seemed too wide to ever escape. "But every day out here—every fight, every choice—it cuts deeper. Makes me colder. Harder."
He paused, then tightened his jaw. "But I'm not going to let it break me. Not completely. If the sea wants to drag me under, I'll fight it. I'll try to be better. Better than what it wants me to become."
For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of fire and the gulls wheeling above.
Down below, the prisoners pressed closer to the fences, silent but listening. Smiling like they'd heard a promise.
Kael rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy.
"You're starting to sound like one of those hero types. Careful, or I might start respecting you."
Gareth chuckled faintly, shaking his head. "Don't. I'm not a hero."
He looked at the burning wood, at the grateful eyes beyond the bars. "I'm just… trying."
The iron gates clanged shut behind the inspection party as Belmarius strode back toward the docks, his long coat snapping in the wind. Guards trailed him until the last checkpoint, then peeled away. By the time he reached the pier, his crew was already tightening ropes, preparing the ship for departure.
As the gangplank was drawn in, a sound rose from the prison walls.
Waves. Not from the sea—but from the prisoners themselves. Hollow-eyed men pressed against bars, gaunt women leaning through slits in the stone, hands raised high. They waved—not to Belmarius. To Gareth.
The Captain's sharp gaze flicked from the prison to the boy hovering above the deck. For the first time in hours, he let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Well, looks like you made quite an impression."
Gareth said nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes distant.
Belmarius's tone hardened, each word hammered flat. "Don't mistake their thanks for virtue. Those sons of bitches have done more harm than good in this world. Pirates, killers, slavers… men I've hunted and chained myself." His lip curled in disdain. "They deserve the rot."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Gareth and Kael heard.
"But…" His eyes narrowed, glinting like steel under lantern light.
"Do what you want. It's the open sea, after all. Just don't forget—the sea always takes its due."
The sails caught wind.
The ship groaned and began to turn, cutting free from the shadow of the prison island.
And behind them, the prisoners still waved.
The voyage back took three days. When at last the horizon broke, even Kael's breath caught.
The main pirate island was no speck of rock, no hidden reef. It was a world of its own. Mountains rose like jagged teeth, forests spilled down their slopes, and sprawling cities clung to every shore. Docks stretched for miles, lined with towers, cranes, and ships stacked upon ships like a forest of masts. The island dwarfed the prison island a hundredfold—what they had thought massive now seemed like a shack beside a citadel.
Above all else, two colossal structures dominated the skyline.
One was a fortress carved straight into the black cliffs, its battlements bristling with cannons, banners of skulls and storms snapping in the wind. A keep for warlords.
The other was stranger, taller, almost regal—a great hall of black stone and timber, its roof shaped like a prow, its walls carved with runes of sea serpents and storms. Torches blazed along its length. This was no fortress. This was the Pirate Guild's heart.
The Crimson Sails docked at its appointed pier, and Belmarius led the way. The crew fell silent as they entered the guild's first hall—an ocean of noise and smoke, filled with pirates from every sea. Brawls sparked and died in corners, merchants hawked stolen wares, blades flashed, laughter roared.
But what silenced Gareth was the wall.
A titanic slab of stone, carved with names. Hundreds of them—etched in deep grooves that shimmered faintly with enchanted ink. The Top 100. The strongest pirates alive.
His eyes traced upward, the list too vast, too dense. His vision blurred the higher he looked, as though his mind refused to comprehend such power. He could only see clearly up to Rank 50.
And there—two names burned like brands:
Rank 50 – The Sea's Devil.
Even those two names carried a weight that pressed against his chest like chains. He didn't dare imagine what waited above.
Belmarius clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him back.
"Business, boy. That's what keeps these seas moving. Forget the names. Focus on the trade."
He guided Gareth to the central desk, a massive table of driftwood and gold where clerks with scarred faces tallied coin, ships, and blood.
Belmarius showed him ledgers, contracts, the flow of stolen cargo turned into empire.
He even ruffled Gareth's hair once, smirking. "Keep your wits about you, and maybe you'll learn faster than I did."
But beside the desk, half-hidden in shadow, hung a framed emblem.
Medium-sized, but radiant even in the dim hall.
A golden sun, simple, perfect—the crest of the Kingdom of Sion.
Gareth stared, uneasy. "Why would a pirate guild honor a kingdom's symbol ?".
Before he could ask, Belmarius led them deeper, through winding halls until a hidden stair swallowed them in shadow.
The air grew colder. Heavier.
At the bottom, a chamber waited.
A single elder sat at its center, robed in black, his aura so dense it crushed the lungs.
Gareth staggered, his telekinesis fluttering wild, barely under control.
Kael, normally unflinching, paled and gritted his teeth.
The elder smiled faintly, as though amused at their struggle.
But the smile died when his eyes fell on the two boys.
"What audacity…" His voice was quiet, but it cracked like thunder.
"…do you have, Captain Belmarius, to bring them here and not report this matter in time?"
Belmarius bowed stiffly, his jaw tight.
The elder's gaze burned.
"The Sea's Devil's vessel has been sighted. Not a rumor. Not a ghost. His boat—larger than your pitiful Crimson Sails, larger than any craft of king or empire—has crossed into the restricted waters. And he comes this way."
The chamber trembled as he leaned forward, his eyes sharp as blades.
"For reasons unsaid."
Soon they left and returned to the ship
The deck of the New Ones creaked and swayed beneath their feet, the sea stretching endless in every direction.
Gareth leaned against the railing, the wind tugging at his hair, and for the first time in weeks, he felt the weight in his chest lighten.
Around him, the crew bickered and laughed.
Marcellus, his face streaked with soot and salt, tossed a loose rope over his shoulder while retelling a story about a fire that had gone spectacularly wrong.
Eira Vale's sharp laugh cut through the salty air, her fingers dusted with deck grime as she exaggerated the chaos of a poisoned dinner she'd once survived.
Doran Flint and Servin Crowe argued over who could load a cannon faster, their hands moving like they were dancing to an invisible rhythm.
Gareth hid his smile in a somber sad face, letting himself be an observer in the absurdity of it all.
The clamor of voices, the smell of salt and smoke, the endless horizon — it was chaos, yes, but it felt inviting.
Gareth walked toward the gate, boots crunching against the wooden planks, his mind wandering as the sea breeze tugged at his hair. The chatter of the crew carried over the deck, but he barely noticed, lost in thought.
A sudden tap on his shoulder made him start. He turned to see Eira Vale, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Before he could react, she pinched his cheek.
"Hey, gloomy lump," she said with a grin. " I'll call give you a nickname, you're Lenziuela, remember that? The one who draws people in… and makes them happy the one who made my captain happy and proud."
Gareth froze, then let out a small, reluctant laugh. She nudged him gently, forcing his face toward hers. "So smile, Lenziuela!"
With a deep exhale, Gareth let himself grin — awkward at first, but it grew warmer as the laughter of the crew floated toward him.
Even Kael Draven, leaning nearby, allowed a faint smirk at the sight.
For the first time in a long while, Gareth felt the weight in his chest lift.
The gate, the sea, the deck, the crew — all of it faded into a bright blur of warmth, and he truly felt… present.